Haunted
by Bohemian Storm
Summary: Curt Wild just wanted to forget and if it takes all the drugs in the world that's what he's going to do.


**Haunted**

By Bohemian Storm

**Disclaimer:**  I don't own the characters, they belong to the amazing Todd Haynes.  The song lyrics belong to Danny Schur.

_Something's haunting me_

_Always there with me_

_All I know is I'm losing control_

            I had stared upward, eyes glazed, fingers trembling and reaching for the girl twisting and writhing above me.  My pale hand had passed through her, her image dissolving before my eyes as I stared incredulously.  She had been there, I had felt her, fingers grasping and pulling at my hair, yanking my head backward to reveal my throat to her.  I had wondered if she was going to cut it, but she just pressed hot lips against my pulse and continued hurting me.

            I had liked it.

            But she left.  I lay on the ground, a wild look in my eyes, muttering under my breath.  The room is filled with people, writhing against each other and hurting each other.  I want to be part of it.  The drugs numb me, but I don't care.  I want to be part of the fucking and the pain.  They look so fucking happy, why don't I feel like that?  Why don't the drugs pound through me and eat away my pain like they had for so long?  It's why I need them so damn much.  

            They used to fix me.

            Now . . . now there's just nothing.  There's a shadow growing and even the drugs can't hide the fucking thing.  I ignore it when I can, looking past it with bleary eyes to see Brian fucking Slade or Mandy on the other side.  Sometimes I can pretend it's not there when they're around.  Sometimes I feel like a normal person, before the drugs and before the shock therapy.  Sometimes Jack Fairy shakes his head as he walks by, patting the back of my hand like a child.  

            Sometimes I feel like a fucking child.

            I want to feel like I did when the drugs mattered.  I want to feel like an unstoppable young rock star with a future, a stash of cocaine and a room full of men and women waiting to fuck me senseless backstage.  I never want this to stop, but everything has to stop sooner or later.

            Another line, another hit, that's all I need.  I'm thinking stupid, that's what happens when you take a hit from a bad batch.  Fucking Devine, selling me bad shit.  It's making me _think, for Christ's sake, making me feel.  I don't want to feel.   _

            I stand shakily, staring down at myself for a long moment.  I don't remember taking off my shoes or socks but they're gone and my bare feet are cold against the hard wood floor.  My pants are unbuttoned and I yank them together as I stumble across the floor.  There's people strewn everywhere . . . fuck, is this even my house?  Do I even know where the goddamn bathroom is?

            I look around, taking in the surroundings.  It's definitely my house, but I don't remember asking anyone over for a party.  People don't just get into Curt Wild's house without an invitation and if I decided to have a party why aren't Mandy and Brian here?  They'd be here, they'd be here above anyone else so where the fuck are they?

            My eyes run over the people on the floor, passing over unfamiliar faces, darting over slick bodies and numbed faces.  A woman with dark hair beckons me, smiling and swaying on her feet, black makeup smudged under her eyes.  She falls, reaches for someone else and within seconds there's another woman on top of her.  They don't fucking need me.

            I need that hit.  There's gotta be a line hidden somewhere in the bathroom.  At least a line, if not more.  The bathroom, I have to get to the bathroom.  And suddenly, I have purpose.  I have a reason to be standing, a reason to be living.

            Where's Brian?

            I just saw him last night, didn't I?  He was here with Mandy and we were . . . drinking?  Were we drinking?  I think we were.  Fuck, I can't remember things like I used to.  We were talking about another song or another show, something like that.  Brian looked like the goddamn fairy he always did, makeup and hair dye, glitter and jewellery.  He looked more feminine than Mandy.  Maybe that's what I like about him, maybe that's why I let him get me in a room alone and just give in.

            But where the hell is he?

            And Mandy.  Mandy's always at my parties.  She loves them, she told me.  It's her chance to be freed from everything.  Those were her exact words.  But she's not here.  I would know if she was here, you don't miss someone like Mandy Slade.  She'd come over and talk if she was here, she'd help me look for my drugs in the house and maybe do them with me.  Mandy was a real person, she'd do anything for a friend.

            I trip over someone's arm, narrowly missing their fingers.  I hear an annoyed mumble from the pile of bodies and brush it off, staggering over their group and leaning hard against the kitchen doorframe.  There's a hall past the kitchen that I can see, the bathroom has to be down there.  It has to be.  If it's not then I don't know where the fuck I am.  I struggle for breath, closing my eyes and leaning my forehead against the cool frame of the door.  

            I'm dying.  Maybe that's what's wrong with me.  I've taken too much and I'm slowly dying . . .

             . . . Fuck that, I need whatever's left of my stash.

            I push off the door frame and stumble across the kitchen to reach the hall.  There's an open door to my left, but it looks like it leads into a basement and I'm seriously doubting my ability to navigate stairs at this point.  So I go on, pushing a door inward to see two people sprawled across a bed that could very likely be mine.  They barely acknowledge me so I keep going.

            Where the hell are Brian and Mandy when I need them?

            A door on my right leads to a huge white bathroom and I flick on the light before slamming the door behind me and leaning against it.  I'll be alright in here, everything will be just fine now that I'm in the bathroom.  There's something in here, something that can make the shadow stop clawing at me.

            I open the medicine cabinet, but close it a second later.  That's too obvious, I'd never hide it there.  Where the fuck would it be?  

            I turn too quickly in my study of the room and fall, my head slamming against the white counter top.  Fuck, there's gonna be blood.  My eyesight leaves me, then slowly comes back in little sparks of light until the entire white bathroom is in focus again.  I put a hand to the back of my head and feel the sticky warmth of the blood spreading in my hair.  That fucking _hurt!  Jesus, I don't think I've ever hit my head that damn hard._

            I struggle to stand, holding tightly to the counter top.  Red blood stands out sharply on it's surface and I drag a finger through it before moving on to the deep closet near the window.  I might have hidden it in with the towels and I need something to stop the bleeding.  My head is fucking pounding.

            I open the closet and grab for a towel, all white, of course.  I press it gingerly to the back of my head with one hand, then search through the rest of the closet with the other.  There's nothing in there, not a single jar or vial of my powdered escape.

            Where the _fuck_ are Brian and Mandy?  I need them now, they'd remember where I'd hidden it.  Or Arthur.  Yes, Arthur.  I feel like I need him now too.

            I stumble again then, falling hard to the tile floor and biting my lip on impact.  Arthur.  Arthur was . . . years ago.  Why am I thinking of him now?  Arthur was after Brian and Mandy.

            I blink, then frown before standing.  Brian and Mandy are gone.  Why would I have though they were here at my party?  I haven't seen Brian since . . . since I left the recording studio and I haven't seen Mandy since the Death of Glitter concert.  Shit, what the hell is wrong with my head?

            Arthur, yes, he's the one on the corner of my mind.  He's perched there, constantly making his presence known without saying a single word.  If I had it in me to hate him I would.  But I can't.  I fucking took him when it wasn't my place to touch him.  He had just been a child and now . . . now he's a journalist.  He made something out of his life.  I just changed and died.  I died inside, drugs eating me out like something rotting inside of me.

            I saw him just two days ago, that's why I started the drugs again.  I remember now.  He found me in the bar and I gave him the pin before walking away.  I never expected to see him again and now that I have I can't face myself anymore.  It was never my right to do what I did to him.  He wanted it and he probably still wants it, but . . . he should have been with someone else.  Anyone else.

            He shouldn't have come looking for me.  I can't forget him anymore, even with the drugs.  I've forgotten my search, now all I want is to touch him, run my hands over his shoulders and skin like I did all those years ago.  I want to touch his mouth and fuck him on the roof of a building.  I want to recreate everything and I can't, I just fucking can't.  He's gone, he's in another world now.  

            I stand again, the drugs forgotten.  I was in another time and another place.  I don't have anything hidden anymore.  I forgot who I was.  

            I stumble to the door with the towel still pressed against my head and open the door.  Down the hall, through the kitchen and back into the living room.  I want everyone out, I want to sit in my own fucking home and mourn my own fucking demons past.  They shouldn't be here, Arthur should be here with me.

            No . . . no, he shouldn't.  He's made something and I'm nothing.  I can't do that to him.  I can't be anything else than what I am.  And I am nothing.

            I turn into the living room and stare across the floor.  There's no one there.  I'm alone.  There was never any girl, never any party.  My head fucking hurts and I sink to the floor, staring around the room.  Only moments ago there had been people here and now there's no one.  I imagined them, I created them all and now it's over.

            He's in my every thought and I can't stand it anymore.  I never wanted to remember him like this, it didn't mean anything. 

            But then why is he constantly here with me?  I forgot about him for an hour, maybe two, but now he's back again, inside of me.  I've never wanted someone like I want him, but he's beyond me now.  He's important and I'm just a washed up rock star.

            Fuck me.  Life is shit.  He'll always be there, dancing around the edges of my vision like some fucking show girl, taunting me and beating me down.  I want him and it's in the past.

            So I'll just sit here in my house, alone, with a towel pressed to the back of my head to stop the bleeding.  I'll sit and think about Arthur and remember everything that I used to have and what it all amounted to.  I'll let him haunt me and I'll let it drive me insane.  It will, eventually everything will drive me insane.

            I just hope Arthur's not around to see it when it happens.  He's haunted me enough already.

_And how could it be that these_

_Visions are dancing around in my brain_

_They're like fire on the sea_

_Or like shadows in rain_

_This just doesn't go happening to me_

_Can't you see that there's something haunting me?_

End

Notes:  I don't know why I like the idea of Curt mooning over Arthur so much, but I do and it had to be written.  I think I just like the thought of Arthur coming out on top, despite being a poor repressed journalist, and Curt being the one who can't stop thinking about it.  Leave me a review if you like it, leave me a review if you don't.


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